Quiet Street Reaps Price of Progress; Bronx Developer's Offer Wins Over Longtime Residents, One at a Time

By ALAN FEUER

Published: March 2, 2004

This is a story about money. It doesn't end well.

It begins where it ends, in the Riverdale section of the Bronx, on a tiny lane called Tulfan Terrace.

Tulfan Terrace is a quiet place of single-family homes and stately trees. It was built in the early 20's as a dead-end alley and sits atop a lovely wooded hill.

The neighbors know each other. They walk your dog when you go out of town, take in the mail and check the plants. The older children have been known to baby-sit for the young. In the bushes, there are rabbits, squirrels and cats.

''I never felt this street was really in the Bronx,'' said Diane Bell, 59, who has lived there for almost 30 years.

''It was always such a friendly, lively place,'' she added with a sigh. ''Unlike it is today.''

At this point, it is possible to speak about the money. Last year, developers came to Tulfan Terrace with plans to erect a high-rise building on the block. They were offering large sums to buy out the residents of the street.

Now, of the eight homes underneath the elm trees, two have sold, one is closing, two are leaning toward a sale and the rest are holding out. The arithmetic of real estate has taken over: two plus one plus two minus three equals tension.

''It's absolutely devastating,'' said Phil Friedman, a construction engineer, who lives at No. 511 with its patios and views. ''This was our refuge, where we came to get away, but everything about the place has changed. It's very stressful for us now.''

Not everything has changed at Tulfan Terrace. There is still no noise, no trash and no sidewalks, and the street still smells of the forest on a thawing winter day. But when the money came, the small-town feeling disappeared. It may be gone for good, the neighbors say.

The first house to be sold was the stone two-story at No. 518 where Michael Denis, 58, has lived for 50 years. Mr. Denis is a writer with a retiring nature.

''My parents brought me up in this house,'' he said the other day. He was packing. His living room was filled with cardboard boxes; the boxes filled with knickknacks, papers, stacks of moldy books.

''We didn't have to lock our doors back then,'' he added. ''We were friendly with the neighbors and there wasn't much crime to speak of. It had the feeling of the country, but the country in the city. It was just a really lovely place to live.''

When Mr. Denis first met with the developers last March, he thought that he would sell only the lot beside his house. But then the developer, DJC Realty L.L.C., made a bid on both the house and the lot, and the price was right, he said. ''They made me an offer I couldn't refuse,'' he said with a shrug. ''Like 'The Godfather.'''

Selling wasn't easy, though. Mr. Denis loves the street. He loves the privacy, loves the peace and quiet. Still, he had found himself in a certain economic situation.

''I had to sell,'' he said, sounding like a man who had just betrayed his mother. ''I didn't mean to start the snowball rolling, but the money. ...''

Now his voice trailed off. The money was what did it, he explained.

The local press has been filled of late with scathing editorials about high-rise developments. In February, parishioners at St. Gabriel's Church on Arlington Avenue turned down a developer's offer to buy their air rights for a 30-story condominium. But another high-rise is being built on Oxford Avenue, directly at the foot of Tulfan Terrace.

Within weeks of the Denis sale, the developers approached his neighbors. When they, too, sold, there was panic on the street.

''At that point, we were all freaking out,'' said Naomi Gans, who lives across the street at No. 525. In her mind, it was now two down and six more to go.

Ms. Gans, 65, a retired librarian, will sometimes wear a button on her shirt that reads, ''Another Hysterical Librarian for Freedom.'' She is organized by nature, so she organized. She called meetings. She wrote letters. She hired a consultant to help her in the fight.

Sitting in her dining room last month, she said: ''I considered DiAnn Pierce the linchpin. DiAnn lives on the south side of the block between the two houses that had already sold. So if we lost DiAnn, I figured we would lose the block.''

DiAnn Pierce lives in a stone-faced Tudor at No. 520. She has lived on the block for nearly 40 years, and raised her children there. At first, Ms. Pierce was adamant; she did not want to sell. But with her husband dead and her children gone, the house was just too much.

There was another problem. Her neighbors had sold, and she didn't want to live between construction sites.

''It took me several months to make my decision,'' Ms. Pierce said. ''At the time, I figured I would only sell to a family that planned to raise their children there, not tear it down.''

But people change. Ms. Pierce admitted this.

''I held out longer than the developers wanted me to,'' she said, ''and I was quite emotional at times. But in the end they offered me good money, and turning down good money, well, it's hard.''

By now, true terror had set in. It was January. It was three down, five to go.

Ms. Gans kept busy. She helped write a letter to the city Landmarks Preservation Commission asking that Tulfan Terrace be protected. The commission has not yet acted on the request.